


All The Running We Do

by orelseatlastsheunderstoodit



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebellion Era - All Media Types
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Star Whos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-09 02:29:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11659746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orelseatlastsheunderstoodit/pseuds/orelseatlastsheunderstoodit
Summary: What if the Galaxy Far Far Away was just another galaxy in the Doctor Who universe? The Doctor, Bill, and Nardole end up on Alderaan, of all places, about five or so years after the fall of the Old Republic. Shenanigans ensue. Enjoy!





	1. It's Never Just Ten Minutes

The TARDIS landed with a resolute thump, the sort of thump she made when she was adamant about something needing to be done wherever they were. _Trouble, Thief_ , came the whispery nudge at the back of his mind. _For you._

“Thanks, dear,” the Doctor said. He spun the monitor toward where Bill stood and Nardole sulked. “Let’s see where we are, then.”

Letters he didn’t recognize swirled past on the screen. It wasn’t Gallifreyan, and yet the TARDIS wasn’t translating it. Was it cuneiform? No, he knew that, the TARDIS would translate that, and it wasn’t that. Some sort of Cyrillic? No. Sontaran battle codes? No. It wasn’t that writing from that station with the possessed Ood, was it? No. The Doctor frowned at the screen. “What is that script?”

Bill leaned against the console, smiling, as she looked at the screen. “That’s Aurebesh,” she said, standing straighter, wearing the grin she did whenever she surprised him. Which, honestly, was more and more often these days.

“What?”

“Aurebesh,” Bill repeated. “You know, the written language of Basic, from _Star Wars_?”

“ _Star Wars_?”

“It’s a movie. Tell me you’ve seen _Star Wars_ ,” Bill said, her eyes bright.

He had, on some movie night with Nardole in the past seventy years, and probably in some previous life as well. But he’d definitely forgotten the plot of it. Plots? Were there multiple movies? Multiple versions? Unimportant. He met Bill’s gaze. “I know it’s a movie, Bill. The question is, what’s it doing here? On my screen?”

Bill smiled as she pondered that. “Maybe it’s gotten downloaded from the Internet, there’s loads of versions of it online. Or maybe we’re in the Galaxy Far Far Away.”

“ _Star Wars_ is fictional,” Nardole put in. “There’s no way we could be in the Galaxy Far Far Away.”

“I once visited the Land of Fiction,” the Doctor said. “Besides, there's more to heaven and earth than in your philosophy, Nardole.”

“My philosophy is that we should be back in Bristol, guarding the vault,” Nardole fussed. Worrywart. “Or in the room on here with the comfy couches and snacks at the ready.”

Oh, Nardole was going to try distraction-by-snack, was he? That wasn’t going to work, not this time. The Doctor frowned again at the screen as it resolved into something readable. _Alderaan_ , the script flowing across the screen said. _Breathable air. Appropriate gravity and atmospheric conditions. Approximately fifteen years until explosion._

A planet headed toward an explosion? Could they be here to save it?

“Doctor, could we go out and have a look?” Bill said. The Doctor turned to look at her. She was doing the slight bounce on her heels motion, Bill-speak for ‘downplaying her ecstatic excitement’. 

“Oh, why not?"

“I’ll tell you why not,” Nardole muttered.

“Hush,” the Doctor said. “We’ll take just ten minutes, see what we can see and then be back off to the office.”

Nardole gave a hearty sigh. “It’s never just ten minutes with you.”

“Well, if you brought crisps on time, we wouldn’t have this problem, would we?” Sometimes it was too easy to wind him up, but it was fun nevertheless. The Doctor smirked and spun the monitor back into its proper place. “Besides, my destination was Earth, but the TARDIS had other ideas.”

Bill was already at the door and pushing it open. “C’mon,” she said.

The Doctor smiled and followed, Nardole reluctantly trudging behind. Outside the TARDIS, a light snow was falling, and the view that met them was a vast vista of snowcapped mountains. Frankly, it looked like the Alps. And the Alps at least had Tatzelwurms to make them interesting.

Bill, however, had her camera-phone out and was panning it slowly across the landscape. She thumbed the button and then stuffed the camera-phone back into her jacket. “It’s _Alderaan_ ,” she said in her tone indicating happiness. 

“Can we go now?” Nardole asked, blowing on his hands as if they were cold. Perhaps they were—did his circuits need checking on? He’d have to remind Nardole to do a diagnostic when they were back in Bristol.

“It’s not been ten minutes yet,” Bill said to Nardole. 

Nardole sighed again. “I’d rather be napping.”

“When are you gonna get another chance to see a place from _Star Wars_?” Bill asked.

Nardole scuffed at the ground with one boot. “We could always go to Switzerland. On _Earth_.” 

“Yes, Nardole, enjoy being in the moment, not whatever it is you’re doing,” the Doctor said. His gaze caught on something moving in the distance. Company? Hostiles?

He pulled the psychic paper from his pocket and tossed it at Bill, who caught it. “What’s this?” she asked. “You used it at the Frost Fair, said you worked for the palace. How’s it work?”

“It’s psychic,” the Doctor said, tapping his temple, then pointing at Bill. “If you know this place so well, probably best you take it. I’m an exceptionally good liar but it’s best to have a knowledge base to build lies upon.”

Bill grinned mischievously. “Like in lectures?”

The Doctor’s very clever retort was cut off by the something moving in the distance became two figures on two machines—large, loud machines that moved very very fast. The Doctor’s type of machine, though no large, loud, fast machine could best the TARDIS at anything.

The machines slid to a stop in front of the trio, and two people jumped off them. The first, a woman with dark hair and a stern manner, confronted them. “Who are you and what are you doing on House Organa’s land?” she said.

Bill took a deep breath, let it out in a rush of words. “We’re here for an audience with the Viceroy, but our capsule encountered some trouble—“

“Hey,” the Doctor said. The TARDIS could hear them, after all. No need to offend the old girl.

“—and the Doctor was able to land her but we were unable to communicate with ground control and ended up out here,” Bill continued. She held out the psychic paper so the woman could read it. 

The woman studied the paper, then glanced around at the trio. “Ambassador Potts, her Doctor, and her butler, here to see Viceroy Organa.”

“It’s a matter of some urgency,” Bill said.

“I see.” The woman thumbed some sort of communication device twice, then waved her partner, a young man, over. “Please report any weapons you may have.”

“We have no weapons,” Bill said, and Nardole nodded.

The Doctor spread his hands wide. “No weapons,” he said, reaching into his pocket and brandishing his screwdriver. “Just a screwdriver. And a spoon.”

“A spoon?” the young man asked. “Why would I think that a weapon?”

“I once fought Robin Hood with it,” the Doctor said.

“Who?”

“Legendary hero from our world,” Bill said, beaming at the man, though her eyes were asking “Robin Hood?”. “It was all in good fun, I assure you.”

The woman pointed at the screwdriver. “That…you need to hide that.”

“My screwdriver?”

“Whatever you call it, keep it hidden at court.”

Now this was puzzling. The Doctor raised an eyebrow. “As you wish,” he said.

“Ambassador, will your ship be fine out here? We can return you at any time,” the man said. 

Bill nodded. “Of course. Safe and secure and ready to depart as needed.”

“Well then,” the woman said. “Let’s get you to the palace.”

Nardole sighed. "I just  _knew_ it was going to be more than ten minutes."


	2. Ambassador's Suite

The ride to the palace was uneventful—apparently these palace-issued ‘swoops’ or whatever ridiculous name they were called by moved both swiftly and smoothly. He, the inventor of antigrav quadricycles, would have given them a better name, he was good at names, but Bill was apparently quite knowledgeable about the strange vocabulary here. She was chatting away with the woman, smiling, leaning in close to speak in the woman’s ear, leaving him perched behind her. Nardole rode on the other quadric—swoop—with the man, looking none too pleased. Then again, when did Nardole _ever_ look pleased, these days?

Still the swooshing wind only made his hair look even better _and_ gave him time to ponder the significance of his screwdriver. Why had the woman looked…almost frightened? The question was, what danger could his screwdriver pose to her? Screwdrivers weren’t dangerous. Of course, his had a lot of extra features than some regular old _boring_ screwdriver, but those weren’t the issue. She didn’t even know about those! Clearly he was missing some essential clue to the puzzle. Time would tell, as it always did. 

They jerked to a stop—the inertial dampeners on these machines were truly remarkable—and slid off onto the ground. The Doctor looked up. The palace soared high above them, white stone gleaming in the sunshine. Less snow, here. He glanced back to where the TARDIS stood a lonely vigil. Yes, she’d be all right up there.

“Doctor, c’mon,” Bill said, pulling him from his thoughts. “We’re going to be shown to the guest suite, to freshen up before the meeting.”

Oh, yes, she was an ambassador. He gave a nod and followed her and Nardole down a long corridor. Standard palace, really. Wall hangings, pieces of art, surreptitious surveillance.

Once in the guest suite, with the door shut, he pulled the screwdriver out of his jacket (the velvet one, the ‘Doctor’ jacket, not as comfy as the hoodie but that’s why the hoodie was one layer below it) and scanned the room. Oddly, no listening devices. He tucked the screwdriver back into its pocket.

Bill flopped onto a cushioned bench. “So we’re on Alderaan!”

“Bill, I’m not a butler,” Nardole fretted. If he kept wringing his hands like that, he’d probably take one of them off.

“Nardole, you know I know you’re not a butler,“ Bill said. “I was thinking quickly, is all.”

“But Bill’s right, you do the washing up and the getting of crisps and all the butler-y butler things,” the Doctor said. “Besides, psychic paper can be a bit tricky. I once shorted it out by claiming I was a responsible adult.”

Nardole snorted in suppressed laughter. “I’ve heard that story.”

“No time for it now. Bill, who are we meeting? Why are we meeting him?”

“The Viceroy,” Bill answered. “Bail Organa. He’s basically in charge of the planet? At least, he represents Alderaan to the Senate. Did the TARDIS give you what year this is?”

“No year, just a countdown to a planetary explosion.”

Nardole gave a small squeak at that news, but Bill seemed unperturbed by the phrase _planetary explosion_. “How far off is it?” she asked.

“Fifteen years, give or take,” the Doctor said. “Why?”

Bill’s face fell momentarily before being replaced by her ‘I’m thinking’ smile. “That means the Emperor’s in charge, that means the Galactic Empire—“

“I’m not a fan of empires, Bill. Galactic or otherwise.”

“But it’s why Levric was worried about your screwdriver,” Bill said.

“What is?”

“The Empire.”

“I’m not sure I’m following you, Bill,” the Doctor said. 

“The _Empire_ ,” Nardole said. “Doctor, we’ve seen the movies. The Empire is the bad guys—the villain Darth Vader, the heroes Luke and Leia and Han, all that?”

“Doesn’t ring a bell,” the Doctor said. “Besides, if they’ve got some hero, like this Luke character, they don’t—“

“Luke’s a baby right now,” Bill said. “He’s, like, five years old. And he’s not here. He’s somewhere else.”

“Well, that’s no good. Still doesn’t explain why she was worried about my screwdriver.”

“Doctor, it looks _like a lightsaber_. The hilt of one, anyway,” Bill said. “And Jedi aren’t…allowed anymore. The Empire killed most of them, for being…different.”

“You can’t not allow people.”

“You know that, and I know that,” Bill answered. “But the Empire doesn’t. Well, they do know, but they don’t care. Anyway, that’s not the point. The point is, she thought you had a lightsaber. On almost any other planet, we’d be in jail instead of the guest suite, for that.”

“How so?”

Bill glanced to either side, then back at the Doctor. “The Rebellion,” she said softly. “The fight against the Empire.”

“Oh, that sounds more like me,” the Doctor said. 

Nardole sighed.

“There’s certain to be trouble here,” the Doctor said. “Is it this explosion? If so, you’d think the TARDIS would have brought us here a little closer to the event, unless we can stop it—“

“We can’t,” Bill said.

“What? Why?”

“It happens in the movie,” Bill said. “Right there on the screen.” _Now_ she looked perturbed. “But if these people are real, real like we are, then we can’t just let it happen.”

“They don’t know about it, though,” Nardole said. 

“But what if we told them? Would they believe us? Maybe make a plan to leave without the Empire finding out?”

“It’s a fixed point,” the Doctor said. “Like something written in stone. Fixed points aren’t supposed to be changed. And if you do manage to change one, time usually reasserts itself to make the event happen.”

“But then why are we here?” Bill asked. “If the TARDIS brought us here because of trouble, and it’s not because of Alderaan exploding fifteen years down the road, why are we here?”

“I guess that’s something we’ll find out,” the Doctor said. “However long we’re here.”

“You said ten minutes,” Nardole said. 

“Nardole, you know I never mean just ten minutes, right?”

Then came a soft chime at the door, and Nardole opened it, revealing a man in deep blue robes. He vaguely reminded the Doctor of an actor he’d once seen in something.

“Ambassador Potts?” the man asked.

“That’s me,” Bill said, her smile broad. She rose from the cushioned bench and crossed the room toward the man. He stepped through the door and closed it.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ambassador Potts,” the man said. “Viceroy Bail Organa.”

Bill shook his hand. “The pleasure is all mine,” she said. She gestured at Nardole and the Doctor. “These are my men.”

Nardole glanced at the Doctor, mouthing ‘Men’ with an incredulous look, and the Doctor waved him off. Nardole knew very well that words had multiple meanings; he was just out of sorts over the not-being-in-Bristol thing. Had Missy seen _Star Wars_? If so, she was probably a fan of the Empire. Then again, she’d never really liked the High Council _either_ but for different reasons, and—

“This visit isn’t our official one,” Organa said, his words pulling the Doctor back to the present. “My captain tells me you have a matter of some urgency to share with me—and that the documentation you showed her contained information related to our shared cause. How can we aid each other?”


End file.
